


With This Ring

by Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1930s AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Post-Reichenbach, Remix, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/pseuds/Amalia%20Kensington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night Sherlock is to face Moriarty, he puts forth a risky plan, one that would be save his life, and maybe even his heart. (1930s AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	With This Ring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sherlollipops - Band of Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431172) by [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely). 



> 1930's AU

 

Sherlock Holmes listened to the sound of his shoes squeaking as he turned in place at the end hallway just outside the morgue. Molly was just inside, he knew, waiting, just like he was. Waiting, waiting.

 

His fingers flitted down to the watch chain in his pocket, slipping his forefinger in and out of the golden band strung to it as he’d been doing every two minutes for hours now. Ever since last night, when he proposed to Molly Hooper right in the very room she was currently in.

 

Watson would be here at any moment and the train to take them to Switzerland and a certain confrontation with one James Moriarty was departing in another two hours, but he’d told Molly to carry on with life as normal, so that in case Moriarty had any spies watching her, they would not suspect her of anything. The truth would come out soon enough. If everything went according to plan, in a few days Molly Hooper would be a widow.

 

It was going to be dangerous, this business of trying to bring down the Napoleon of crime on the continent. There were rumblings of another war and being on a ground James Moriarty likely had an advantage in did not bode well for Sherlock Holmes. Germany was stirring, and Sherlock suspected that Moriarty had more than one or two strings he was pulling there. Sherlock didn’t have any illusions that the situation wouldn’t be difficult for everyone, Molly worst of all. She would have to carry on the illusion of his death before Watson, before Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson, even before Mycroft.

 

Sherlock’s fingers closed around the band of gold once more. His brother would by far be hardest to convince, but there would be no denying the validity of the paperwork and grandmother Vernet’s ring on Molly’s finger. No one would question Molly’s rights as a widow, what should be done with his body when it was found, or with his possessions afterwards. There shouldn’t be a body to find if all went according to plan, but things could still go amiss.

 

Molly Hooper ( _Holmes_ now, musn’t forget that) would have to be the sole person to take care of anything related to his person, the one that would have to be called immediately to deal with the situation. This would be the only way this plan could work, he had made that abundantly clear to her the night before.

 

He trusted her. She _counted_. He recalled her bravely offering no question to his cryptic remarks, no fear to do anything he would ask her, and oh how he had asked her for everything she could give. His faith had not been misplaced.

 

And so it was that the fresh ink on the marriage certificate read February 4th, 1937, a date nearly two months prior to the date when they actually stood before the vicar and swore to love and cherish and be faithful till death did they part. Two months of secret marriage was plenty, nothing to arouse serious suspicion and yet completely legally binding to the point where no one could argue.

 

“It’s not too late, Molly,” Sherlock had said quietly to his would-be bride as they sat in the train car on the way to the vicar’s house just outside London. “You can still say no, I’ll tear this up and I’ll drive you home and it’ll be like it’s never happened.”

 

Molly had reared back, her eyes wide. “Is that...are you saying you don’t want...I thought…”

 

“It’s merely a way out, Molly,” Sherlock had reassured her, reaching over and covering her hand with his. “I can practically hear your doubts as if you’d spoken them out loud. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, I can find another way. You don’t have to get any deeper into this crisis I’ve created for myself.”

 

He had meant it. Molly’s only crime in any of this was being his friend and now...well, if she wanted out of what promised to be absolute hell, he’d give it to her, cost him what it may.

 

Her voice had been steady when she replied. “This isn’t your fault, Sherlock. This mess was made by James Moriarty.” She had squeezed his hand gently as she gave him a confident smile. "It seems he won't be cleaning it up...so let's take care of it together, shall we?"

 

He really was an idiot. How could he have possibly prided himself in his powers of observation when the greatest gift in a human being had been standing before him this whole time and he was only now really truly seeing her? He was a worthless wretch for letting it come to this. Yet, she was sitting beside him, holding his hand, agreeing to...to…

 

“I want you to understand that I do not ask this of you lightly, Molly. Once the process is complete....these rings on your finger will be a permanent condition. I hope I did make that clear.” He swallowed hard, suddenly uncertain of the outcome of all of this.

 

“Crystally,” she had responded immediately and with confidence. She met and held his gaze for a moment before tentatively reaching up and running her finger along his cheekbone, flittering over his jawline and neck before coming to rest on his chest. She stared at her hand for a moment, and he wondered if she could feel the pounding within his ribcage.

 

“You know how I feel about you, Sherlock,” she said in almost a whisper, her eyes remaining lowered. “I love you.”

 

There is was. Yes, he knew, but hearing the words made him take a sharp intake of breath. Which she had of course misread, making her start to pull away. He held fast to her hand and brought it back to his chest.

 

“Molly, don’t…” he had swallowed thickly, the words caught in the space just beneath where their hands were entwined. “Please don’t think that I don’t care. I _do_ . And that’s as much...as _deeply_ as I can feel for anyone.” He had made sure to hold her gaze. “These are the worst possible of circumstances, and I realize that it’s my own fault that things are this way since I didn’t mention it before. Please know that you’re the only person I would ever want for a wife.” He hadn’t broken eye contact with her as he brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them, hoping and praying that she would understand what he was trying to tell her.

 

Her answering blush and slow smile told him that she did.

 

She married him.

 

He could still hear her calm and clear voice, the sureness of her hands in his as she vowed _in sickness and in health_ , smiling as he declared to _love and cherish_ her for the rest of their days.

 

Their friends would know soon enough, go through the motions of shock and surprise, perhaps even a bit of hurt, but needs must. It was a calculated risk to put Molly on Moriarty’s radar, but if all went the way Sherlock had planned, there was no point in hurting her if he was believed to be dead. And his affairs would be safely in her hands until a time he would be able to return. It was, of course, a last resort, a plan to put in play if no other outcomes could be reached. He was ready.

 

Sherlock took a deep breath and checked the time on his watch once again. It was almost time. He glanced at the morgue door, debating if he should risk going in and seeing his wife once more.

 

They’d ridden the last train back into London from the vicarage, and he had followed her to her quiet flat where she lived alone. Soon enough she’d move into Baker Street, but not tonight. John wouldn’t even wonder where he’d gone, and he was loath to leave her. Practical matters needed to be attended to, however, and secrecy remained paramount. Not wanting to risk being spotted, Molly went through the front while Sherlock snuck up the fire escape.

 

She was gathering pillows and blankets, obviously nervous but setting about making a comfortable spot for him on the couch when he made it to her sitting room, shucking his coat onto an arm chair.

 

There was something that she had been saying, but he found that he could not focus and proceeded to give into the desire that had been sparked less than an hour ago, when their marriage contract had been sealed: he kissed her. But unlike the chaste peck given before the vicar, this was a real kiss, his arms pulling her towards him, marveling at his immediate reaction of feeling how well she fit against him and the moment of wonder that despite everything else falling to bits around him, Molly, his dear _darling_ Molly was actually _his._

 

She’d dropped the bedding from her arms long ago and had placed her hands on his shoulders, in a movement that seemed more for the need of support than anything else, her mouth recovering from the shock enough to become pliant against his, her head tilting to allow for their mouths to slant together in a kiss that ignited the senses. As breathing became necessary, he had pulled away just a bit, cataloguing how her blinking eyes were dazed a bit, her breathing matching his in a pant. He almost smirked at the blush that bloomed on her face as he had held her closer, evidence of what he was feeling pressing against her midsection.

 

“Oh!” she breathed. “I thought you...that you weren’t interested in...I wasn’t expecting…”

 

“I told you before, Molly: this isn’t meant to be some kind of mock marriage. You are my wife and I am your husband.” The words had thrilled him in a delightfully unexpected way and his lips tugged up in a smile. “I am no longer married to my work: I’m married to _you_ , Mrs Holmes. A fact that I am expecting to continue to be true after all this business is over.”

 

He gently caressed her cheek before resting his forehead against hers. “Married for life, my dearest. And I promise we will not be apart for long.”

 

Molly had kissed him then, something like a dam having been broken and they quickly took to their marriage bed, coming together and making love for the first (but certainly not last) night of their lives.

 

_Their lives._

 

He’d been loathed to leave her in the early morning hours, dressing quickly but not before pressing his nose into her hair and inhaling her scent, running his fingers over the exposed soft skin of her shoulder and committing to memory the look of the band of gold around her finger before climbing back out of her window.

 

Sherlock had never believed there was anything that could topple the cold reasoning that he’d always held most dear above all things. But Molly Holmes had quietly come and unseated it, ruling supreme over his heart in a gentle dictatorship, one he was willing to fully succumb to at the first available opportunity.

 

Half-past eight. Watson’s footsteps could be heard at the end of the hallway, having received Sherlock’s message as soon as he awoke, just as planned.

 

_The game was on._

 

_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this story so much and trying to remix it was a joy.


End file.
